


Toss a Coin

by tupti



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: First Kiss, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Says "Hmm", Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Idiots in Love, Love Confessions, M/M, Protective Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Sex Worker Jaskier | Dandelion, Soft Boys, implied prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-02
Updated: 2020-03-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 20:28:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22991737
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tupti/pseuds/tupti
Summary: Geralt is badly hurt and they are all out of healing potions and money. When Jaskier is not allowed to sing, he needs to procure coin otherwise. How will the Witcher handle it, when he finds out what his bard did to keep him safe?
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 19
Kudos: 589





	Toss a Coin

They had been traversing the wild for too long. Geralt had refused to admit they were lost and Jaskier trudged behind him knowing that there was no point in arguing. He didn’t know their direction any better and in all probability they were bound to come across a village sooner or later. Unfortunately, it became later rather than sooner. Food wasn’t the problem. When they started to run low on provisions, Geralt hunted deer – and even some of the monsters he killed didn’t taste too bad. The problem was that, in the wake of these fights fought along the way, the Witcher ran out of potions quickly.

So when the Kikimora that surprised them in the swamps practically impaled Geralt as its last act on this earth, there was nothing left to treat him with. Jaskier couldn’t do anything but heave him close to Roach, help him get on the horse’s back and carry on. He had never seen Geralt so weak. He would heal, the Witcher promised under his ragged breath, he’d just take some time. But after a whole day of hauling Geralt around in the woods, Jaskier wasn’t so sure anymore. His companion grew even paler and quieter than usual and he had to nudge him back into the saddle a few times, when he was about to fall off.

Jaskier was close to crying in relief when they finally approached a small town. He had never heard of it, they were in the middle of nowhere, but at least they were _somewhere_. There was an inn and a mage and that was all they required, really: a place to sleep and someone to sell them healing potions.

Except, their coffers were empty. The need for coin what was had driven them so deep into unknown territory in the first place.

Geralt leaned heavily on Jaskier who dragged him into the inn.

“There’s no point”, the Witcher grunted. “We can’t pay.”

Jaskier shoved him through the doors nevertheless. His hair clung to his sweaty forehead from the exhaustion of supporting the weight of the muscly Witcher, yet he kept his carefree air. “Dear Geralt”, he chided gently, “I demand a little more faith. I will sing for our supper as I have done before.” He leaned towards the innkeeper behind his bar. “Pray, good man, are you in need of a bard to entertain your clientele? I am…”

“No”, the innkeeper interrupted flatly. “No singing here.”

Jaskier blinked in confusion. “What do you mean, no singing?”

“I mean: No singing. We are very pious.”

The bard still couldn’t quite believe what he had just heard with his own two ears. “What draconian god do you pray to that doesn’t allow singing, my dear man?”

“Doesn’t matter”, Geralt growled. He could barely keep himself up and was leaning almost all his weight on Jaskier. “We can keep going.”

“No, we can’t! Look at you!” The bard bit his lower lip and addressed the barkeeper again. “Good sir, might I ask for your good will? Might you be so kind as to offer a bed to my hurt companion? I promise by all that is holy to bring you the money by nightfall.”

The innkeeper nodded reluctantly. It seemed to Jaskier that he tried to do the right thing, even though he really didn’t want to. “Aye. You can bring him upstairs. But I will have my coin, bard!”

Jaskier squared his shoulders and nodded. “Certainly.”

“Jaskier!”, Geralt protested weakly. “Where will you get the money from?”

“Don’t you worry about that.”

He dragged the groaning Witcher upstairs which was a feat that might need its own ballad at some point with Jaskier starring as the unrelenting hero. After he had hauled Geralt onto the bed and undressed him, he was bathed in sweat. Carefully he peeled away the bandage around the Witcher’s chest to look at the damage the Kikimora had caused. He took a deep, shaky breath. In spite of the Witcher’s fast healing, it was horrifying. Any human would have succumbed instantly, but Geralt held on, if barely. Thankfully, he was half asleep while Jaskier cleaned and dressed the wounds. He knew it wouldn’t help much. The Witcher was in bad need of a potion and those were costly.

Jaskier made sure his companion was covered in blankets and asleep before he touched himself up as best he could in a hurry and returned downstairs.

  
  


Before Geralt had come around, singing hadn’t always made him money. He had fallen on hard times before and, resourceful as he was, he had found solutions. Early on, Jaskier had learned that his dashing and unthreatening nature assured him the affections of men and women alike. He had also learned that there were plenty of people out there who would pay good money for his… loving attention. It wasn’t his preferred way of making ends meet, but the innkeeper and the mage had to be paid. Pious communities were proper gold mines in that respect. All the repressed lust and pent up desires made for grateful costumers. So he scouted the tavern for potential clients. Lonely men paid the best money. The uglier the more generous, he found.

He slid into a seat across a man with a tankard of ale as his sole company. “Pray, good sir. Are you perhaps in need of some companionship?”

The good sir was indeed, as was his aunt after him and her friend after her.

It paid the room and the food, but the mage’s services were expensive. All that Jaskier could procure was a light healing potion, not enough for Geralt, not nearly enough. It made him better though, well enough to get to his feet on his own in the morning, after a whole night’s sleep.

Even though he was still shaky, the Witcher insisted on seeing Roach in the stables. Only after he had made sure that she was properly taken care of, he could deal with anything else.

He turned to Jaskier with a sharp look in his eyes.

“How did you manage that?”

“Whatever do you mean?” The bard tried to play it light, but Geralt’s face turned sour at him trying to evade his question. “Oh, you know”, Jaskier conceded. “I have my ways. Though we’re still not done here. I’ll see the mage again as soon as I can pay him. So, I’ll deal with that, don’t you worry, and you go and rest a bit more.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re really not.

Geralt growled low in his throat. “How?”

“Well, it’s simple: You go upstairs, lie down on the bed…”

“Jaskier. How do you plan on getting the goddamn money?”

The bard opened his mouth and closed it again. What would the Witcher think of him if he knew?

An elderly man chose this exact moment to approach them, his eyes uneasily shifting from left to right. With utterly unconvincing nonchalance he leaned against the stable wall next to Jaskier and cleared his throat politely.

“They say you’re the one to ask for… um… for certain services?”

Geralt narrowed his eyes and tilted his head. Jaskier could see him piecing the puzzle together behind that broad forehead of his, so he hastily grabbed the man’s arm and dragged him with him. “You’ve come to the right person”, he whispered. “Let’s take this somewhere more private.”

Geralt had caught up. With a dark look on his face he stepped in their way. “Leave him alone.”

The man defiantly crossed his arms in front of his chest. “Get in line, freak! Honestly, I would charge double for him”, he told Jaskier. “I mean… Look at the monster.”

The bard could feel Geralt’s anger flare up and turned toward him. “Don’t.” His voice was soft, pleading.

The Witcher snarled. “Jaskier, no.”

“Go rest, Geralt.”

It broke his heart to watch his companion’s face fall. He tried to tell him with looks that this was the only way and that he needn’t worry about him, before he turned around. Geralt’s gaze burned into his back, as Jaskier led his client out of the stables.

  
  


Geralt was lying on the bed, eyes screwed shut. The potion had closed his wounds, but only on the surface, and caring for Roach had taken way more out of him than he was prepared to admit. He felt weak and so tired, so, so tired, and yet he couldn’t sleep. His thoughts were running in circles. Jaskier and this man. Jaskier and other men and women. For money. For him. That was the worst part: for him. He kept his eyes closed when he heard the door squeak. Jaskier stepped in and rustled with his clothes for a bit, then crawled under the blankets and curled up next to the Witcher. His body felt cold and there was a sour smell coating him that burned Geralt’s nostrils: the smell of the old man.

“Why are you doing this?”, he muttered.

Jaskier startled. “You’re awake! Gods, you almost gave me heart attack.” Instead of giving an answer though, he fumbled in his trouser pocket and produced a little bottle. “Here, I have your potion. This should finally do the trick.” Geralt took it but didn’t drink.

“I don’t want you to do this for me.”

“Well, it’s too late now. Anyway, it’s nothing, compared to what you have done for me over the years.”

“Not true.”

Jaskier bit his lips. “Geralt, please don’t think less of me. It’s survival, nothing more.”

The Witcher was fishing for words. He wasn’t the most eloquent person on good days, but this was too much for him to handle. Of course he didn’t think _less_ of Jaskier. How could he? He minded because… because… Ugh, his mind was slow, so tired and so slow. What was the right thing to say here?

“Geralt?”, Jaskier prompted, his voice shaky and demur. The Witcher blinked. Had he been quiet for so long? His confusion was suddenly pierced through by a deep fondness for this man curled up next to him. He leaned in and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips.

The bard froze, then pushed him away.

Geralt’s cheeks flushed hot red. Obviously, that hadn’t been the right choice.

“Just because I do what I do, doesn’t mean I’m an easy lay, alright?”, Jaskier hissed. He hopped out of bed and slipped into his discarded doublet.

The Witcher had trouble to keep up with what was happening. He had only kissed the bard to show him affection. Gods, why was his brain so sluggish? Ah, yes, he was tired. He should sleep. No, he had to deal with this! What was Jaskier accusing him of again? By the time his senses had finally caught up, the chamber door had long fallen shut behind the bard. Geralt tried to scramble out of bed, but his limbs wouldn’t cooperate. He cursed his weak body and threw himself angrily back into the pillows. Reproachfully, he eyed the potion he was still holding and finally drank it. It tasted bitter on his lips.

  
  


Healed and healthy, he found Jaskier in the stables the next morning. The bard had already saddled Roach and packed their bags.

“Jaskier.” For once Geralt really wanted to talk, but the bard turned his back on him.

“We should get going.”

And he walked without waiting for his Witcher.

Geralt never knew how tormenting blessed silence could turn out to be. The whole day he spent riding behind Jaskier and staring at his back. The bard didn’t say a word, didn’t even hum a melody or so much as look at his lute. A couple of times the Witcher took a deep breath to start a conversation, but every time his courage left him before he could get a word out. All the ways he had offended the bard in the past and he had never taken true offense, but now… This silence was driving him crazy.

When it got dark, he lit a fire. Jaskier laid his blanket down in the shadows, just outside the flame’s reach. He had to be freezing over there, so Geralt finally forced himself to speak.

“Damnit, Jaskier, come closer. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

Silence answered him. It seemed to take minutes until he finally heard a rustle in the shadows. Then Jaskier picked up his blanket and moved it closer to the fire and closer to the Witcher.

“I just thought, you were different, I guess”, the bard muttered. “I’m used to others thinking they can have me at their leisure and taking me for granted. I have learned to use that to my advantage. But you…”

“That wasn’t…”

“No, I get it”, Jaskier interrupted. “Look, I know that people get fascinated with the sweet little songbird and that they might even love me for a while, but eventually they all get bored, so they want more, but there isn’t more to give. You know?”

Geralt didn’t quite understand. But one thing he did know. “Jaskier. I have been annoyed with you, and angry. You have made me laugh and you have made me mad, but for all that is holy, Jaskier, I have never, in ten years, been _bored_ with you.”

“You haven’t?”

“No. And I do not take you for granted. You know better than anyone that I don’t have very many friends.”

“None, to be exact.”

“Well. One.”

Jaskier looked up, surprise written all over his face. “You never called me your friend before.”

Geralt lowered his gaze. “Well, you _know_.”

“It’s nice to hear it, though, now and again.”

“Hmm.”

The fire crackled in the silence that hung between them for a while.

“So…” Jaskier’s voice was small, unsure, hopeful. “Why did you kiss me then?”

“Because I wanted to.”

Jaskier bit his lips. “Why?”

Geralt felt a smile on his lips and lowered his head. He intently studied the fallen leaves at his feet and mumbled inaudibly.

Jaskier edged closer. “Come again? I think I didn’t hear you right, Geralt.”

The Witcher snapped his head up and looked at the bard with murder in his eyes. “I said”, he growled. “Because I like you!”

Jaskier laughed. “Oh, Geralt, dear, that has probably been the angriest love confession I have ever been privy to.”

“That wasn’t a…!” The Witcher interrupted himself. “Hmm.”

The bard moved even closer, so close that Geralt could feel his warm breath on his skin. “Be honest, please. Did you kiss me, because you _like_ like me?”

“Hmm.”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Gods, yes! Yes, I do!”

Jaskier’s cheeky smile was quickly devoured by Geralt’s mouth. He kissed him with passion and this time, the bard let himself be pulled into the Witcher’s strong arms and kissed back. Geralt never knew he could feel this way: hot and cold at the same time, shivers running down his spine, his cheeks and lips burning, his hands tingling where they touched Jaskier’s body.

The bard broke their kiss, gently this time. “And you don’t mind that…”, he whispered. “You don’t mind that I… sold my affections?”

Geralt shook his head. “Who am I to judge anyone for selling their services?”

“It’s not the same.”

“In many ways it is. And I…” He cleared his throat. “I love you either way.” He frowned when Jaskier’s eyes glinted wet in the fire light. “Did I say something wrong?”

“No”, the bard sniveled. “No, not at all.” He carefully carded his hands through Geralt’s hair, then let them rest gently on either side of his face. “I never dared dream of this.” This time, he was the one to close the distance between them and kiss Geralt ever so softly. “And you won’t get bored with me?”

The Witcher smiled lightly and looked him deep in the eyes. “If there’s one thing I can promise, that is it.”

Jaskier snuggled even closer. “I love you, Geralt.”

“Hmm”, the Witcher hummed and pressed a gentle kiss to Jaskier’s forehead. The bard laughed and it sounded like song to his ears.

A song he’d never grow tired of.


End file.
